


the world only spins forward

by whalersandsailors



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fugue Feast, I might have teared up while writing that, Low Chaos (Dishonored), M/M, Overseers - Freeform, Post-Game, Windham has to say goodbye to his wolfhound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalersandsailors/pseuds/whalersandsailors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being caught by his fellow Overseers, Windham knew things could not be the same with him and Darion. Darion has a solution. They plan for months, but when it is time to go, Windham is terrified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the world only spins forward

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 31 Days of Fugue Feast, Day 3, Prompt: Overseers.
> 
> I have wanted to write something for Windham for a long long time now, and this is a headcanon I have had for him and Darion for a little over a year. It was soppier in my head, so I tried to make it a little more realistic.

The barracks is quiet. Everyone else has already left. The men at the Abbey can hear the noise of the festivity and decadence of the Fugue Feast even from within their walls, and as each overseer ended his shift, the man would hurry off as fast he could. Windham has other plans for the evening. He shoves a few clothes into the bag—only necessities, nothing heavy. He pries back the canvas of his bunk, pulling out coins and even some paper money. He counts it to make sure it’s all there. His hands shake. Nerves, he reminds himself. He puts the money in his bag, pressing his face against the material, breathing in, breathing out. This will be fine, he tells himself. It will work out.

Windham looks at his uniform that he had taken off only an hour ago, when his final shift ended. His mask lies on top of the pile, its gold-wrought scowl watching his every move, judging him for what he is about to do. Windham hesitates. He picks the mask up, shoves it under the clothes in his bag, ties it up, and heads out the door.

There is a cold breeze on the air tonight, threatening rain. Windham decides to duck into the Abbey’s back door, taking the stairs off the main lobby, past storage, past the bust of Holger, into the kennels. Windham stops by the cabinet where Hound Master Wharton keeps the dried meat for the hounds. He passes Oliver who is sitting in the bunks, still in his uniform, his mask lying beside him.

Oliver looks up, his face placid. “Not joining the festivities, tonight?” His smile is tired.

Oliver is a good man, older and hardened, but there is a trace of a little boy’s kindness in his eyes. Still, Windham fears that Oliver’s beliefs about his duty to the Abbey will make trouble for him.

Windham tries to smile back, his heart starting a race a little. “No, not tonight.” He enters the hallway, calling back. “I’m opening Valor’s cell!”

“Fine!” came the call back.

Oliver is the closest thing Windham has to a confidante within the Abbey. Windham respects and trusts the older man. The two became decent enough friends over the years with talk of the strictures and their hopes for Dunwall.

Oliver is also the one who should most suspect what Windham is doing.

The door to Valor’s cell slides open with a groan. The hound looks up at Windham, having just woken up, and her tail immediately starts wagging when she sees him.

“Hey, girl,” Windham greets, kneeling beside her.

She pushes her snout against his hand, her tail thumping loudly as she smells the treats. Windham lets out a breathy laugh, muttering about her impatience, before opening his hand and letting her lick the treats out of his palm.

He rubs her head. “I’m really sorry, girl,” he murmurs in a broken voice. He frowns, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I know you don’t understand, and I can’t explain it. I wish I could take you with me. You know that I would if I could.”

She looks up at him with her liquid brown eyes, nothing but trust and adoration shining back at him. He rubs that tender spot behind the ears that she loves. She shoves her snout against his cheek.

“But you’ll be good for Wharton and the others, right? They’ll take of you.”

Windham hears footsteps around the corner. He looks up and sees Oliver watching, silent. Windham gives Valor another strong pat on her back and gets up. She starts to follow.

“No, Valor,” Windham commands, voice firm. “Not tonight.”

She sits obediently, her head cocked. Windham pulls the switch to close her cell, and he glances up at Oliver. The other man has not moved from where he leans against the wall, arms crossed against his chest. He is staring at Windham’s bag on the floor.

“Oliver, I—“ Windham starts.

“Don’t.” Oliver’s voice is hard.

Windham nearly recoils at the venom in his voice. He straightens his back and forces himself to stare Oliver in the eye. His throat feels tight.

Oliver thins his lips, eyes turning to the ground, brow furrowed. He finally speaks.

“You’re still going to leave then? After everything?”

Windham can only nod, fearing that he cannot speak past the lump in his throat. He wishes he could apologize. He wishes he could come up with an excuse. He wishes that he could trust Oliver enough to stay and take his counsel. He wishes things could be different.

But if he stays, his heart would hurt for other reasons, and that—most of all—is what Windham could never explain to Oliver.

Oliver’s eyes flit up to Windham’s face. He’s still frowning, but his eyes are sad.

“Go then. Go in peace, brother.”

Windham’s feels some of the tension leak from his shoulders.

Oliver continues, “I won’t stop you.” His smile looks more like a grimace. “It’s the Fugue Feast, after all.”

Windham nods again and shakily grabs his bag. One final look to Valor, he turns and drags his feet from the kennels. The disappointment in Oliver’s eyes is what hurt the most. As Windham winds his way through the streets, avoiding revelers and keeping to the alleys, he thinks he should have thanked Oliver. Regardless, he knows that Oliver would never accept it. Both men know that on any other night, Oliver would have kept his threat, for the good of Windham if nothing else. That also hurts.

Windham does not want to think of his mistake, of how he and Darion were almost— No. They are fine, he reminds himself. They will work out.

It had happened a few months past. He and Darion had met on patrol, hardly romantic, but there had been a surprising companionship that had blossomed from their professional relationship. Windham had started spending his leaves with the other man, drinking, walking the waterfront. Darion was the first man with whom Windham could be completely open. Their relationship evolved, and Windham cannot make himself regret it. He is more than just his faith and his mask to Darion, and Windham treasures that.

But they got reckless. Darion had pulled him aside during patrol. They were in an alleyway, hardly hidden but sequestered enough to feel an illusion of safety. It was not lewd, but they had been embracing when a trio of overseers stumbled upon them. Windham had shoved Darion away with such ruthlessness that Darion had a bruise on his shoulder for a week. He snarled at Darion to keep away, to keep his filthy, sodomite paws off him. He yanked out his pistol, threatening to shoot Darion if he came close again. The show worked, and the other overseers joined in the verbal abuse. Darion ran before they did anything drastic, but Windham still cannot forget the fear and hurt in his eyes.

Then the rumors started. They abounded in the barracks, and the other men avoided him, eyeing him during meals, during prayer vigils, during patrols. Windham could hardly care what they had to say. His mind was only on Darion, and he feared that he had ruined everything between them.

One day, the rumors simply stopped though the stares didn’t. Oliver approached him that evening. He was angry, but he expressed his worry. He told Windham that he had heard the rumors but stopped their brothers from spreading them further. He reminded Windham of their talks, of everything that Windham had believed in as a new full-fledged initiate in the Abbey.

_“Remember your strictures, brother.”_

Oliver had pressed him against the wall, his voice low.

_“Do not lose yourself to an errant mind.”_

In those brief ten minutes, in that urgent, whispered conversation, Windham felt like a little child being scolded. He also began to understand the fear of all those who had passed through the interrogation chambers.

_“Do not make me report you, Windham. I would hate to lose you.”_

Windham took Oliver’s words to heart, but he desperately wanted to reconnect with Darion. Before he could explain himself to the other man, however, hell broke out in the Abbey. For a time, everything was happening so fast that Windham did not think of Darion. High Overseer Campbell was found in the interrogation room, his face burned with the heretic’s brand. The Abbey was in chaos, and no one knew who had authority anymore. Windham had been with a crowd of his brothers as they watched Campbell being thrown onto the streets. The brand was a vivid red on his face, and Windham shuddered at the sight of it. Seeing the brand made Oliver’s threat feel more ominous, and for a time, Windham thought he could end it with himself and Darion.

When he returned to the barracks, however, there was a letter waiting for him, and he found himself falling in love all over again. To be safe, Windham spent his next two leaves at prayer vigils before he let himself see Darion again. They met at Darion’s apartment, and Windham felt himself break. He was terrified and helpless, but if there was anything he wanted to save, it was Darion. It would always be Darion.

Darion had an idea.

_"You can leave, Windham. We don’t have to stay here."_

Windham had been incredulous, but Darion, in his ever stuttering voice, with his adorable gap-toothed grin, explained.

 _"I have a cousin in Karnaca. We can have work."_ Darion’s voice had trembled. _"We can work out."_

Windham hoped, and that hope is all that carries him now.

**

Windham bangs on the door. Three sharp slaps. The hour is late; his pocket watch reads half past ten. The plan was for the two of them to meet in an abandoned apartment, several streets away from Darion’s home. Darion should already be here.

The door opens only an inch. Windham hearts swells with relief when he sees the familiar blue eyes peeking through the crack. Darion reaches out and pulled Windham through the door, crushing him with a tight hug.

“Good! You made it!” Darion remembers the open door and only breaks off the embrace to close it.

“No one followed you, right?” Darion asks, his grin fading at Windham’s shrug. “You’re late. I was worried.”

Windham smiles. He drops his bag onto the floor and goes to Darion, taking his face in his hand, stroking his thumbs against Darion’s freckles and the corner of his lips where he had two deep dimples when he laughed.

“Nothing important,” Windham assures him. “I’m here now.”

Darion chuckles. He nods, eyes wide, a grin tempting his lips again. He sighs, chuckles again. He looks half as scared as Windham feels but there is more of a disbelief in his features.

“We’re really doing this then? This is going to work.”

Windham tugs Darion to him, resting their foreheads together.

“Yes,” he murmurs.

Darion lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes.

“Ship leaves awful early. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

Windham feels a small laugh bubble out of him as he pushes Darion back to look at him.

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

Darion shrugs, his grin growing, showing off his gaps. “Hey, don’t judge. I’m all jitters.”

Windham shakes his head, feeling almost lightheaded from the events of the evening. He fears that Darion might disappear before his eyes, that none of this is real. When Windham doesn’t say anything, Darion’s smile slips, and he looks concerned.

“Windham?”

Windham glances at Darion’s lips and looks back up at him, yearning so much for this delicate bond they created. Sometimes, he fears it will shatter beneath his fingers.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

Darion looks sad, but there’s relief in his face. He doesn’t answer, instead pulling Windham close and gently kissing him. They lie on the mattress in the corner, kissing for hours, holding each other, waiting.

This will work out, Windham tells himself. It must.

**

Dawn comes before Windham is ready, and he feels tense all over again. Darion is up, slinging his bag over his shoulders.

“Come on,” he says, holding a hand out for Windham. “Ship leaves dock in an hour.”

They don’t speak, only hurrying through the streets. The Fugue Feast is over, and people have crawled back to their homes, drunk and exhausted. The air is pale with only the beginnings of sunlight hitting the horizon. Buildings are dark and silent, but Windham feels eyes everywhere. He glances over his shoulder at every block that he and Darion pass. They’re not safe yet, and Windham worries that someone will come for him before they can leave. He knows that he couldn’t have been followed, but still, his paranoia gets the best of him. Even as they reach the harbor, and Darion goes to speak with the captain to find out where they’ll be staying onboard, Windham feels himself shake, his heart pounding.

Darion comes back to Windham where he stand frozen to the dock. Darion doesn’t say anything but nudges Windham with his elbow to get the man moving. They were provided with some space to sleep in storage. The ship was for merchants, not passengers, but Darion had connections, nabbing them a spot. The room is cramped and stuffy. The bedrolls are made of material hardly better than burlap. The two men drop their bags in a corner and look at each other, both feeling dazed.

“This feels like a dream, yeah?” Darion says with a laugh.

The bell marking the ship’s voyage rings outside. Darion perks up at the noise.

“Hey, let’s go outside,” he suggests.

Windham nods and follows Darion up onto deck. Sailors are rushing about, pulling up the gang plank and untying the ship from deck. Windham and Darion snake their way through them, stopping at the bow of the ship.

“We’ll reach Bastillian in two days,” Darion explains. “After that, we’ll have to find another ship to get us to Karnaca. Ship is fastest, I’ve heard.”

Windham nods. He stares forward at the sea, wrapping his arms around himself and bracing himself in the cold wind bouncing off the water. Darion stands close to him and bumps him with his arm.

“Hey. Windham.” Darion pauses. “We’re okay. This worked. We’re okay. We will be okay.”

Windham looks at Darion, feeling something crumble inside of him at the lost expression on Darion’s face. Windham glances behind them, seeing that they are alone, risking taking one of Darion’s hands in his own.

“I know.” He squeeze’s Darion hands. “Thank you.”

Darion’s easy grin is back on his face. They both look forward, silent for a while, watching the sun make a lazy climb on the edge of the water in the distance.

“Hey,” Darion starts. “Doesn’t reciting the seven strictures calm you down? Why not do that?”

Windham shoots Darion a wry glance. “ _You_ of all people are suggesting that?”

Darion shrugs. “If it was something that bothered me, do you really think I would be bedding an overseer?”

Windham’s laugh is breathless and short, more a snort than laugh.

“Soon to be ex-overseer, you realize,” he points out.

Darion waves his hand. “Technicalities.”

Windham huffs a little, but his grip tightens on Darion’s hand.

“Very well,” he mutters, breathing in deep, the words flowing from him easily. “Restrict the wandering gaze that looks hither and yonder for some flashing thing that easily catches a man’s fancy in one moment but brings calamity in the next.”

The sun is up now. Darion is smiling softly as his watches the ocean and listens to Windham’s voice. At last, with Dunwall fading behind them, Windham’s heart begins to feel light. Theirs is a bright future, he tells himself.

This will work.

“Instead, fix your eyes to what is edifying and to what is pure, and then you will be able to recognize the profane monuments of the Outsider.”

The end


End file.
